Story:I'm Dead
A short experiment in 2nd person writing by SupcommMonroee. I'm Dead "You want to know, eh? Well, it was that missile. Kamarov was at my left, an' he was just dicking around with some machine as usual. Then that Ivan had a fine item of gentleman's literature. I peeked over for a good lookin' at Flying Yette, and that's when I saw that-" "Please, colonel, start from the beginning. I want to know everything. Where you were born, how you grew up, how you joined... For the records. Don't be afraid to share anything that the IPF might have... interest, in. I'll make sure that part rots away in some nuke bunker, much like all the admissions of all the people that pass through here..." The interviewer that cuts you off is a gray-haired, fifty or so Aphbrec male. His scaly, blood-red flesh hasn't a muscle to be seen under it. A pen rests on his left ear, and the man adjusts it whenever it moves, as if to hide something. No matter. Everyone here has something to hide, anyway. It's clear as day to you that the Aphbrec is not a fighter (at least at this age), but has the cold, calculating mind of someone who has worked in and understands the SIS top to bottom. He'd be wholly incapable to do it with his own hands, but a few well-placed words from his aged mouth could radically alter the galaxy's political landscape. If you held a gun to his head, he wouldn't smack it away and flip you over, but instead manipulate you into being his pawn all while maintaining his innocent, elderly demeanor. "Where was I born? Ah, that would be Ucharpli, friend," You start, "My old man was a diplomat, you see. The blues put us on the Southern pole of that planet, as if to give us the cold shoulder before negotiations even start up. The only good part about that I say was that all the colder planets I've been stationed on just seemed a bit nippy." "And you lived there until you were an adult?" The Aphbrec seems almost genuinely interested in the story, but if he's as good at his job as you make him out to be, it's entirely faked. "That I did. Mum raised me, 'cause dad was away all the time. She was firm, and she was unfair. I love her for it. She beat fear an' honour into me, taught me to swing a knife and shoot a gun, and just left me to my own devices. Two sisters to put the real effort into, right?" You chuckle, and begin to idly fiddle with the antique butterfly knife you've had and kept on your person since you were nine. "Did those skills ever come into use?" "If there's one thing that mum got real deep into my thick-ass skull, it was to never mess with a lady. So Nata comes home one night from the embassy with her little boyfriend. They were both fourteen, I was sixteen, but the boy was a good head taller than me at that point. I'd always been mum's secret policeman since she caught me once not telling on Grete, so I keep an eye on the two when they think they've snuck out into the backyard. So they're in the snow, and they're playin', doing lover shit, I guess, when they start talkin' about something. It gets heated, and the guy looks to be threatening to slap her," You chuckle once more, and with sound effects, shoot a finger gun you've made with your left hand, "I put an AP through the shit head's palm, and when he's down, I run out and tackle him. That's when I put this baby on his neck." You eye your butterfly knife with affection. "So you taught him a lesson, then." Unsurprisingly, the Aphbrec's expression remains unchanged. "I told him that if he reported me to the authorities or came close to Nata ever again, I'd nail his manhood to a tree." "I doubt you said it that politely." This makes you laugh more than at any time in the interview, before or later. "Absolutely, I did. I'm a polite, forgiving guy at heart. Mum taught me well. Anyway, I grew up helping mom, never talking to the old man, and protecting my sisters. It all kept me busy, an' I never had time to study math and science or any of that shit in school. As long as you can shoot a gun, the Army calls you good." The Aphbrec nods slowly, taking a few notes of his own on a notepad that seems to materialise out of nowhere in his palm. He gestures for you to continue. "I cheated, and I was damn good at it, too. Never did they once catch me, and I got out of school with honours. All the other sheep were either too honest or too dumb, probably both. So then the draft board computers grab me and decide I might be good for flight school. I reasoned that I wouldn't need to figure out the area of a hexagon or something like that to shoot missiles at Kklxin dickheads, so I let them put me through training." You lean back in your leather chair and rest your head on your left hand, still toying with the knife with your right. "And how was that, the training?" "Basic? Easy shit. Our camp was damp and frigid, so I thrived in the endurance tests. Then flight training came 'long," You look the Aphbrec in the eye, "Shit's harder than anything I've done. Whatever they make you do in terms of physical fitness, they park you in the desert to do it. I tell you, I cooked like an egg in a fusion reactor. I was always drenched in sweat, and I really hate that feeling. I just hate everything being wet and sticking to me, 'specially my pants and my ass. I can never tell if I've shit myself because I've worked too hard without a break, or I'm just taking years off my life through exhaustion. Six or seven times I threw up, I tell you. I just barely passed, and after that, actual flight training was a breeze. They put me in the Luca, and a squadron filled with some of the best sons of bitches I've seen." "How many posts did you have after that until Kynes?" "Two. The first one was the capital. I was even in Vyzalinkh-Bogdana. I love that city, even if it does get hot. Ladies, shows, food, ladies, sights, people, ladies... Had it all. That's where I met Mia, recipient of all my coveted 'rockin' in bed' awards." Aside from the knife, Mia was and still is the greatest pleasure in your life. It never mattered where or when, just that she always knew exactly how to run you. "Where exactly did you meet Mia?" "Bars. You tell me people meet women elsewhere? Some asshole got drunk and thought she was some cheap booty, and he started grabbin' for her. Everyone else was wrapped up in a drunk argument between some Constellation pilot and my pal Kamarov, so I just went on over and knocked the asshole a few weeks back." "Then what?" The Aphbrec was amused by your tale, if nothing else. "We both got drunk out of our asses an' had a wild night in some cheap hotel, that's what! That's when I actually got to know her, and she was a fun person. Wild party girl, loved guns, sex, and planes, so she was right up my alley. Married her a week later." You close your eyes and remember that little ceremony. Just your squadron and some Karnasaur who spoke two words of Luuschtuntski were in attendance. "And somehow this lasted?" "I guess it's like some of those arranged marriages, or something. They just happen, and every now and then end up great. That's what happened with Mia and I. When the Air Force finally sent me to the front line, at Yinov, Mia didn't think twice about coming along. You know how those first days at the forward bases work. You arrive, settle in, and get deployed four or five systems away for a few weeks. Mia and I chose that day to make Karl. Damn, was that one great romp... Liked it the most 'cause I can remember it!" "Tell me about Karl." "Gee, he's just two. Not much to say other than he's tiny, a boy, and I love him just as much as Mia. She hasn't gone to a single party since he happened. I'm afraid my darling wildcard may just be out of business. Ah well, after that, I was sent to Kirben, two systems away, and I couldn't bring Karl or Mia. First day I was there, some damn Kklxin thought it'd be cool to shoot missiles at our base." "So that was when it happened, correct?" "You know it. I was with Kamarov and Ivan, doing ready duty with our fighters. We were just sitting around in folding chairs doing nothing quite useful when some missile just decides to show up right as I'm peeking over at Flying Yette in Ivan's holozine. Then... The missile hit." You stand, your life story complete. "I assume this is all I will get out of you, colonel." "Damn straight. I'm dead." You make a show of folding up your butterfly knife before casually striding out of the room. Category:Eteno Category:Stories Category:Example stories Category:Articles by User:SupcommMonroee